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Colorado Abduction
Cassie Miles


Colorado Abduction
Cassie Miles









www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u71509d11-7086-5086-b15b-dc903e35b2e0)
Title Page (#u62b09206-e58c-574d-afc7-eed3d9fba650)
About the Author (#u28533901-0b34-57e5-98e2-4cdb140aa6d4)
Dedication (#u64841c0c-be5b-5388-81cb-5d55f4c1e9dd)
Chapter One (#u11748717-ddb9-5788-a1ba-05a694c21ec9)
Chapter Two (#uc67834ac-ab86-5e68-ad52-44b3da155cc2)
Chapter Three (#u74b85481-34d9-5e54-89dd-81cb40eb4f3f)
Chapter Four (#ue143e95b-9b28-51c5-83a2-b62443539cda)
Chapter Five (#ucf943231-edc8-5ba2-a4af-31a335451836)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Though born in Chicago and raised in L.A., CASSIE MILES has lived in Colorado long enough to be considered a semi-native. The first home she owned was a log cabin in the mountains overlooking Elk Creek with a thirty-mile commute to her work at the Denver Post.
After raising two daughters and cooking tons of macaroni and cheese for her family, Cassie is trying to be more adventurous in her culinary efforts. Ceviche, anyone? She’s discovered that almost anything tastes better with wine. A lot of wine. When she’s not plotting Intrigue books, Cassie likes to hang out at the Denver Botanical Gardens near her high-rise home.
To the ever-encouraging Tess Foltz. And, as always, to Rick.

Chapter One
Too impatient to wait until the rotors of the helicopter came to a stop, Carolyn Carlisle disembarked, ducked and ran with her laptop in one hand and briefcase in the other. Dirt and dead leaves kicked up around her feet. Her long black hair whipped across her face. When she was in the clear, she gave the charter pilot a thumbs-up signal and the chopper took off, swooping through the Rocky Mountain sunset like a giant white dragonfly.
Silence returned to the wide valley, which sat in the shadow of snowcapped peaks. The surge of joy Carolyn usually felt when she returned to the cattle ranch where she’d grown up was absent. Her home, Carlisle Ranch, was under threat.
Last night, there was a fire at the north stable. Across the pasture, she could see the place where the barn once stood. The blackened ruin stood out in stark relief against the khaki-colored early December fields. The stench of burnt wood tainted the air. All the livestock had been rescued, thank God. But expensive equipment had been destroyed, and the sheriff suspected arson.
She marched up the walk toward a sprawling, two-story, whitewashed ranch house, originally built by her great-grand-father and added to by subsequent generations. Her first order of business was to kick her brother’s butt for not calling her last night when the fire broke out.
Dylan had waited until today to inform her, probably because he didn’t want her interfering. The family ranch, running about two thousand head of Angus, was his responsibility and he preferred that Carolyn stay in the Denver office of Carlisle Certified Organic Beef. Usually, their arrangement worked out well. She liked the city and loved the daily challenge of running a multimillion-dollar corporation.
But she was still a rancher at heart. As soon as she had heard about the stable fire, she’d had to be here. Hadn’t even taken the time to change her business attire—teal silk blouse, black wool suit with a pencil skirt and high-heeled boots.
As she climbed the three stairs to the veranda that stretched across the front of the house, she was confronted by a cowboy with a rifle.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“I work for Longbridge Security, ma’am.” He pointed to a trefoil patch on the arm of his denim jacket.
“Did my brother Dylan hire you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He held open the front door for her.
She considered the presence of a bodyguard to be a good sign. At least Dylan was taking action. They couldn’t really expect the Delta County sheriff’s office to patrol the thousands of acres they leased for grazing.
Leaving her laptop and briefcase by the coatrack, she went down the hallway toward her brother’s office. The door was ajar and she heard voices from inside—angry voices.
Her brother’s wife of five years, Nicole, stormed from the room. Her blue eyes were furious. Her jaw clenched. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, Carolyn.”
“I just got here.” She liked and respected Nicole. Considered her more like a sister than a sister-in-law. “I was just getting ready to yell at Dylan myself.”
“Be my guest.”
“First, we could go out to the kitchen and have a cup of tea. Or something stronger if you like.”
“Right now I just want to be alone.” Nicole went to the front door. “I’m going to take a ride down by the creek.”
The door slammed behind her.
Carolyn’s first impulse was to follow her, but Dylan stepped into the hall. “How the hell did you get here so fast?”
“I chartered a chopper. After you finally got around to telling me about the fire, I wanted to see for myself that Elvis was all right.”
“Your horse is fine. He’s in the corral by the barn.”
She’d intended to read him the riot act, but he already looked miserable. His shoulders slumped. His pale green eyes—identical to hers—were red-rimmed. “We need to talk.”
“You missed Thanksgiving. Again.”
“I had to work.” And she wasn’t going to let him guilt her out for shirking family responsibilities. Her every waking thought was devoted to running the family business. “What happened, Dylan? Was it arson?”
“There’s nothing you can do.” He stepped back into his office and shut the door.
Good old Western stoicism. Closed doors all around. Never show emotion. Never share what’s really wrong. Never ever cry. That cowboy ethic might have worked in the Old West, but this was the twenty-first century with psychologists on every corner.
In search of a sympathetic ear, Carolyn left the house and headed toward the outdoor corral attached to the big barn with stables in the back. If she hurried, she could catch Nicole who was probably still getting saddled up. Instead, Carolyn looked for her version of a shrink. Elvis.
Reaching over the top rail of the corral, she stroked the white blaze on her horse’s forehead. His upper lip curled in the trademark sneer of his namesake. He batted his long lashes, shamelessly flirting though he was over sixteen years old and had expanded his girth since she last saw him.
“No more sweets for you, Elvis.”
He whinnied in protest.
She tugged a forelock of his black mane. “If you get any fatter, you won’t fit into your white jumpsuit.”
As she watched Nicole head out, Carolyn shivered. She should have grabbed a jacket before she came out, but the weather was pleasant enough—probably in the mid-fifties—and her blood still boiled with anger. She had a bad feeling about Nicole riding alone. It didn’t seem safe. Not if there was an arsonist on the loose. A few minutes later, a man wearing a jacket with the Longbridge Security patch rode from the barn to follow her.
She turned her attention to Elvis. The horse listened while she talked about her worries about the ranch, about Dylan and Nicole. They’d always seemed like the perfect couple. If they couldn’t make it, what hope did Carolyn have of finding a mate? She was thirty-three with no special man to warm her bed. Her last date had been a disaster and…
A noise distracted her. A snap that ricocheted across the valley. A rifle shot?
Carolyn peered across the field. The bodyguard and Nicole were nowhere in sight.
The grizzled ranch foreman, Lucas Mann, came around the corner of the barn, moving faster than his usual bowlegged saunter. “Carolyn, did you hear that?”
“Hush.” She listened hard. A volley of shots echoed from far away, like pebbles being dropped in a metal bucket. Sound traveled great distances in the thin mountain air and she couldn’t tell where the gunfire was coming from. “Lucas, give me your gun.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Lucas handed over his sidearm. Though he looked like an old-time cowboy, the weapon he carried in his belt holster was a brand-new Glock nine millimeter.
Carolyn tucked the gun into the waistband of her skirt. “We need to find Nicole and make sure she’s okay. She was headed southwest toward the creek. I want you to saddle up. Bring one of those security guards.”
“What the hell are you fixing to do?”
“Take care of business.” If someone had fired on Nicole, she needed backup. And she needed it now.
In her high-heeled boots, Carolyn climbed the corral fence, tore the slit on her wool skirt and slung her leg over Elvis’s bare back. As soon as Lucas unlatched the corral gate, she rode through. Digging her heels into Elvis’s flanks, she took off across the field.
Riding without a saddle wasn’t easy, especially not with the horse’s bristly coat snagging her panty hose and an automatic pistol digging into her side. She wouldn’t have attempted this ride with any other mount, but Elvis’s gait was as familiar as her own jogging style. Her body adjusted instinctively to the rhythm of his gait. In her teens, she and Elvis had won dozens of trophies and blue ribbons for calf roping and barrel racing in local rodeos.
She clung to his mane and directed him with pressure from her knees and verbal commands. The chilly December wind sharpened her tension as she rode toward the area where the valley merged into rocky hillsides covered with forests of ponderosa pine.
She hadn’t heard any other shots. If there had been a gunfight, it was over. The damage was done.
What if Nicole and the bodyguard were shot and bleeding? Can’t think about that now. She needed to stay focused. That’s what I do best—hard-driving, straightforward action.
Through the dusky gloom, she spotted a horseman coming out of the trees at a slow walk. The bodyguard. He slumped over his horse’s neck. As his horse came to a stop, he slipped from the saddle to the ground.
She dismounted and ran toward the injured man. His shirt and denim jacket were covered in blood, his face twisted in pain. She sank to her knees beside him and pushed his jacket aside. If she could figure out where he’d been shot, she could apply pressure and slow the bleeding.
“Nicole.” His voice was faint. “Couldn’t save her.”
Talking was too much of an effort. He needed to calm down and slow the pumping of his heart. But Carolyn had to ask, “Was she shot?”
“No.” His eyelids closed. “They took her.”
She tore open the buttons on his shirt, exposing a raw, gaping hole in his upper chest. Carolyn took off her suit jacket, wadded the fabric in a ball and pressed against the wound. Blood also stained the sleeve of his jacket and his leg. She had to get him to a hospital.
His hand gripped hers. He forced his eyes open and stared with fierce intensity. “Nicole tried to fight. Two men. One of them hit her. She fell. Didn’t move.”
Carolyn choked back a helpless sob. Oh, God. How could this happen?
“The other guy…” The bodyguard coughed. His fingers tightened. “He stood guard. He got off a shot. Before I could get close enough to…”
“You did the best you could.”
“I fell off my horse. Couldn’t move. Just lay there.” It must have taken a fierce effort for him to mount up. Even now, he struggled to sit. “Saw their faces. I can ID them.”
“Settle down.” Though she respected his courage, this man wasn’t going anywhere. “Help is on the way.”
She glanced over her shoulder. What was taking so long? Lucas should have been here by now.
The bodyguard lay back. His chest heaved. Yet he forced himself to speak. “They said Dylan would pay. He’d pay a lot. To get his wife back.”
“Are you telling me Nicole was kidnapped?”
“That’s right. Kidnapped.”
His eyes closed and his body went limp. He was still breathing. But just barely.
Her arms ached from putting pressure on his wound. The jacket she pressed against his chest was already soaked in blood. His chances for survival decreased with every minute.
“Don’t die.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “Please. Please, don’t die.”
She heard the sound of hoofbeats approaching and dashed away her tears. If the men found her crying, they wouldn’t listen to a word she said. And Carolyn needed to take charge, needed to be strong. Her brother was going to be crazy and illogical—dangerously irrational.
The bodyguard she’d met on the veranda joined her on the ground beside the injured man. “I’ll take it from here, ma’am. I’m a medic.”
“He’s unconscious.”
“You did the right thing,” he said, “putting pressure on the wound. Don’t worry. We’ll get him to the hospital.”
She stood and stepped out of the way, relieved that the wounded bodyguard would be cared for by someone who knew what he was doing. Turning on the heel of her boot, she faced four other men on horseback. All of them had rifles. They looked like a posse from the Old West.
Lucas swung down from his horse and came toward her. “You’ve got blood all over. Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay.”
“Where’s Nicole?”
Her lips pinched together. If she told them Nicole had been kidnapped, they’d take off to rescue her. They were cowboys, experienced hunters who were capable of following the track of a jackrabbit across miles of mountain terrain. If they located the kidnappers, there’d be a shoot-out.
The paramedic called out. “I need the first-aid kit in my saddlebag. Somebody call an ambulance.”
“You heard him,” Carolyn said. “The first thing is to get this man to a hospital. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
While the other cowboys followed instructions from the paramedic, she saw her brother racing toward them, leaning low over the mane of his horse, riding like the demons of hell were on his tail. He pulled up and dismounted in a single move, hit the ground running and yanked her into a hug. “Thank God, you’re all right.”
“I’m fine.” She could feel the tension in his body. Every muscle was clenched. Dylan wasn’t going to like what she had to say, but there was no way to get around it.
His eyes were wild. “Where’s Nicole?”
“Listen to me, Dylan.” She grabbed his arm and held on tight, hoping she could save him from his own temper. “Before the bodyguard was shot, he saw two men with Nicole. He heard them say that you’d pay a lot to get your wife back. They kidnapped her.”
He tore free from her grasp. “I’ll kill the bastards.”
Exactly what she was afraid of. “Think about what you’re saying. If there’s a gunfight, Nicole could be hurt.”
He strode a few paces away from her, yanked off his hat and slapped it against his thigh. “What the hell am I supposed to do? Twiddle my thumbs while some son of a bitch holds my wife hostage? Wait for the sheriff to figure this out?”
“Let me handle this. The bodyguard who tried to protect Nicole is already standing at death’s door. I don’t want anybody else to get shot.”
“She’s my wife. I’ve got to find her.”
Her brother was the most hardheaded man she’d ever known. There was no point in trying to talk sense into him. “I can see that I’m not going to change your mind.”
“Hell no.”
“Then give me your gun. I want all of your posse’s guns. It can’t hurt for you to track the kidnappers, but if you’re not armed, you can’t start a shoot-out.”
“This isn’t your call.”
“Before Dad died, he told me to take care of my little brother. And that’s what I intend to do.”
He threw up his hands. “It’s not fair to bring Dad’s ghost into this situation.”
She didn’t play fair, she played to win. “Dad wouldn’t want you to risk your life. Or anybody else’s.”
“Fine. We’ll leave the guns. What are you going to do?”
“Go back to the house and wait to hear from the kidnappers.” That wasn’t enough and she knew it. “And I’m calling in the FBI.”

TWO AND A HALF HOURS LATER, Carolyn stood on the veranda outside the house. The porch lights shone on a black van that had just parked next to the Delta County sheriff’s SUV. This had to be the FBI.
A tall man emerged from the passenger seat. Instead of the typical FBI black suit, he wore jeans and a worn leather jacket. As he strode toward her, he seemed to get even taller. He was probably six foot four. His sandy brown hair was less well-groomed than she’d expect from a federal agent, but he had an unmistakable air of authority—an attitude that immediately put her on edge.
“Special Agent J. D. Burke.” He identified himself as he held up his badge. “I need to talk to the sheriff.”
“Sheriff Trainer isn’t here.” At her urging, the sheriff had borrowed a horse and went to keep an eye on Dylan and his posse. She hoped the presence of a lawman might deter any attempt at vigilante justice.
“Who’s in charge?”
Carolyn had changed from her bloodstained business clothes into jeans, a pink T-shirt and zippered hoodie. With her black hair pulled up in a ponytail, she probably didn’t look like the top executive of a multimillion-dollar company. Still, she resented the way he looked right past her, trying to find a man in charge.
“I’m Carolyn Carlisle.” She held out her hand. “I’m the boss.”
When he shook her hand and made direct eye contact, she felt a jolt of electricity—a warning. His dark eyes were hard, implacable. She and this fed were going to butt heads.
“Have you heard from the kidnappers?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
Three other men left the van and came toward the house. All were carrying equipment in black cases.
“We need to set up,” Agent Burke said.
She held open the front door as they trooped through. “You can use the office. It’s down the hall to the left.”
Ignoring her words, he went past the staircase to the dining room with the long oak table. “This will do.”
She hated the way he disregarded her suggestion, not even acknowledging her. Biting her lower lip, she held back her protest when his men pulled the chairs away from the table. Without a word to her, they opened their cases and began spreading out equipment—all kinds of electronics and computers.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “We could use some coffee.”
His arrogance astounded her. “I’ll bet you could.”
“I take mine black.”
The last straw. No way would she be relegated to the position of fetching coffee.
“Listen to me, Agent Burke.” She struggled to keep from snarling. “I called in the FBI. As far as I’m concerned, you owe me an explanation of what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“You,” she snapped, “work for me.”

Chapter Two
The razor edge in her voice caused Burke to turn and face this slim-hipped woman in cowboy boots. Anger blew off her like a hurricane.
“This is my ranch. My house.” Her tone was sharp but controlled. “I insist upon being treated with respect. I’m not your errand girl. I don’t bring you coffee. I don’t tidy up after you. And I demand to know what’s going on.”
She looked like a teenager, but there was nothing girlish about her temper. Carolyn Carlisle was a mature and formidable woman.
He peered into her eyes. They were fascinating, with green irises so pale they were almost transparent. She stared back at him, hard and determined, as she waited for his answer.
“What do you want to know, Carolyn?” He purposefully used her first name to establish that he was the professional and she was a civilian.
“Well, J.D…” When she countered immediately with his first name, he almost grinned. This woman didn’t miss a beat.
“Actually,” he said, “I go by Burke.”
“Okay, Burke. I want an explanation of all this equipment you’ve scattered across my dining room table. But first, I want to know your plans.”
“Here’s the deal, Carolyn. I don’t have time to hold your hand and make sure you’re happy with our investigation. I didn’t come here to make friends.”
“Understood. But you need my help. Things are different on the ranch than in the city. People are different.”
As far as he was concerned, a criminal was a criminal. Their motivations and methods might change from place to place, but the underlying stupidity and cruelty were a constant. “This is a crisis situation and I’m in charge. That’s the way it rolls. Get used to it.”
Her fascinating eyes narrowed. “Get used to what?”
“I give the orders.”
“Then we have a problem. I don’t take orders. I will, however, respond to requests made with respect.”
“You want me to say please and thank you?”
“That’s a start.”
Her smile was infuriating and at the same time attractive. Even sexy. If they had met under different circumstances, he might have pursued her. But not here. Not now. As a hostage negotiator, he knew better than to become emotionally invested. The survival rate for kidnap victims held for ransom within the United States was less than forty percent. Nicole’s abduction probably wasn’t going to end well.
The phone on the table rang. “This could be the kidnappers.”
Carolyn’s bravado vanished. “What do I do?”
“It’s on speakerphone,” Burke said. “If it’s the kidnappers, you need to keep them talking and demand to speak to Nicole.”
He pressed a button and gave her a nod.
“Hello,” she said. “Carolyn Carlisle speaking.”
“Yes, ma’am. This is Wentworth. I wanted to give you an update.”
Her tension relaxed. “I have you on speakerphone, Went-worth. I’m here with the FBI. We’re waiting to hear from the kidnappers.”
“Who is he?” Burke asked.
“One of the security guards my brother hired. Wentworth is at the hospital with the wounded man, Jesse Longbridge, the owner of the security company.” She turned back toward the speaker. “How is he?”
“In critical condition,” said the voice on the phone. “His heart stopped during surgery. He hasn’t regained consciousness, but he’s breathing on his own.”
“Is he going to be okay?” Carolyn asked.
“It’s touch and go, ma’am.”
She wrapped her arms around her midsection as if literally holding herself together. To Burke she said, “Jesse saw the kidnappers. He can identify them as soon as he wakes up.”
If he wakes up. He leaned toward the phone. “We appreciate the update, Wentworth. This is Special Agent J. D. Burke of the FBI. Can you call in another man from your security company?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I want two of you at the hospital, keeping an eye on Jesse Longbridge. He’s a threat to the kidnappers and they might come after him.”
“We’ll keep him safe, sir.”
Burke recognized the crisp attitude. “Are you former military, Wentworth?”
“Marine Corps. Two tours of duty in Iraq as a medic.”
There was no need for further conversation. Burke had complete confidence in Wentworth’s ability to keep the witness safe. The first lesson for a Marine was never leave a man behind. “Carry on, Wentworth.”
“And thank you,” Carolyn added before he hung up.
He figured that the veneer of politeness she insisted upon was a way to maintain control. It was a small price to pay for her cooperation. “Carolyn, would you please tell us the events leading up to the kidnapping.”
She gave a brief nod. “It was dusk. Nicole went for a ride. She wanted to be alone, but the bodyguard, Jesse, left a few minutes later. I heard shots and went after them.”
“How long between when they left and when you heard gunshots?”
“Maybe ten minutes.”
“Did you pursue on foot?”
“On horse. Bareback. I happened to be near the corral.” She frowned. “I wasn’t dressed for riding, and I ruined a perfectly good skirt. Tore the slit all the way up the side.”
His mind formed an image of her long legs pressed against the flanks of her horse as she raced across the field. It must have been something to see. “Then what happened?”
“I saw Jesse coming out of the trees. Even though he was badly wounded, he managed to tell me that he saw two men grab Nicole. She struggled, but they knocked her unconscious. They said that my brother would pay a lot to get his wife back.”
Apparently, this wasn’t a planned abduction. There was no way the kidnappers could have known Nicole would be out riding at that particular moment. Not unless she was part of their plan. If that were so, she wouldn’t have struggled, wouldn’t have needed to be rendered unconscious. More likely, this was a crime of opportunity. Nicole happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Bad news. Burke preferred to deal with professional criminals. Amateurs were unpredictable. “What happened next?”
“The men from the ranch rode up. Wentworth took care of Jesse. And he was nothing short of amazing. He got Jesse loaded into the bed of a truck and took him to the hospital before the ambulance arrived.”
Jesse Longbridge had been lucky to have the battle-trained expertise of a Marine medic. Wentworth’s fast action and triage skills had probably saved his life.
“After that,” Carolyn said, “I had to deal with my brother, Dylan. He wanted to track down the kidnappers and kill them. But I insisted that all the men leave their guns behind. The sheriff is with them now. They’re still looking, talking to people at nearby ranches.”
Burke needed to put an end to this chase as soon as possible. He strode from the room.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To get us some coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”

NEAR ELEVEN O’CLOCK, Carolyn paced back and forth on the veranda, waiting anxiously for her brother to return. After half a dozen calls on her cell phone, she’d finally convinced him to allow the FBI to handle the kidnapping. Even if Burke was a pain in the rear, he was an expert.
The equipment he’d finally deigned to show her was impressive: GPS surveillance, heat-sensing infrared imaging, audio scanners, computer linkups to monitor e-mail activity. These high-tech tools made her brother’s posse on horseback seem positively archaic.
She knew Dylan would be impressed by the technology. The problem was Burke. If he tried to order her brother around, there’d be hell to pay.
Her first impression of Burke as a brusque, authoritative jerk had changed. He’d shown patience when he’d explained how to handle the ransom call. He’d told her not to confront but to stand firm. And to keep the caller talking. There were two reasons for that strategy. First, so they could get a clear trace. Second, the more the kidnapper talked, the more information they could gather. Little sounds in the background were clues to the kidnapper’s whereabouts.
Burke and his men had practiced with her so she’d know what to say. They’d told her to use her feminine wiles to stall—a useless bit of advice. If she’d ever had wiles, they were buried under years of dealing with ranch hands and businessmen who didn’t respect a woman who cried or pouted or giggled.
According to the FBI experts, her number one goal when talking to the kidnappers was to get proof of life.
She shuddered when she thought of the alternative. Nicole could already be dead. Her fingers tightened on the porch banister, anchoring her to something solid and tangible.
Burke came onto the porch and stood beside her. The sheer size of the man was impressive. He stood well over six feet tall with long legs and wide shoulders. She couldn’t really guess at his age, but assumed that a senior FBI agent would be in his late thirties. A little older than she was.
“Are you chilly?” he asked.
“Not a bit.” She stuck her hands into the fur-lined pockets of the hip-length shearling jacket that protected her from the December cold.
“It’s beautiful out here,” he said. “Peaceful.”
“When I was growing up, I couldn’t wait to get off the ranch. After I left, I kept wanting to come back.”
“But you live in Denver now. Tell me about your job.” He paused for a moment. “Please.”
“You’ve asked so nicely, I can’t refuse.”
She glanced up, catching a twinkle in his dark brown eyes. Though he was willing to play along with her insistence for respect, he made it clear that the decision was his choice. He was still in charge.
His attitude was familiar. All her life she’d been dealing with taciturn, stubborn men. Cowboys weren’t known for wearing their hearts on their sleeves unless you put a guitar in their hands. A mournful tune could bring sentimental tears to the eyes of the most calloused ranch hand.
She strolled to the end of the veranda, climbed onto the porch swing and tucked her legs under her.
“My job,” she said. “I’m the CEO at Carlisle Certified Organic Beef. I handle oversight of the product, sales and distribution for this ranch and more than sixty others through-out the west. Anybody who contracts with us agrees to follow sustainable ranching procedures that my father pioneered in the 1980s. All Carlisle Certified cattle are grass fed. We don’t use antibiotics or growth hormones.”
“With the craze for organic food, you must be doing well.”
“The business keeps me hopping, and we’re also doing something good for the planet. Our system of shifting cattle from field to field prevents overgrazing. I like to think that we have a contented herd.”
“But they still get slaughtered.”
She leaned forward, setting the swing into motion. The chain that attached to hooks in the porch ceiling creaked. “I hate to think about that part. For a long time I was a vegetarian.”
“On a ranch?”
“Don’t even think about giving me a hard time. I’ve heard it all.” She swung a little harder. “Currently, we have plans to build a state-of-the-art, humane slaughterhouse a couple of miles from here.”
“I can’t get a handle on you.” He regarded her with curiosity. “Are you a hard-driving businesswoman? Or a tree-hugging environmentalist?”
“A little bit of both. I try to avoid politics.”
He sauntered toward her and sank into a sturdy, carved rocking chair beside the swing. “I’d find that statement easier to believe if the FBI hadn’t been alerted to Nicole’s kidnapping by the governor’s office.”
She hadn’t wanted to waste time going through regular law enforcement channels. “The governor is a friend. I called in a favor.”
“But you’re not political.”
She didn’t need to justify her position to him. What an irritating man! “Why do you want to know about my job?”
“Motivation,” he said. “I’m trying to figure out who has a grudge against you or your brother. For the past couple of weeks, somebody has been causing a lot of trouble at the ranch.”
“Trouble?” Dylan hadn’t mentioned anything until today when he told her about the stable fire. “Please explain.”
“I read the police reports your brother filed. Uprooted fence posts. Damage to the irrigation system in the hay field. A couple of pieces of stolen equipment.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and peered at her through the dim light. “You didn’t know.”
“These incidents sound like minor mischief. Dylan probably didn’t want to worry me.” Still, he should have kept her informed. It seemed like he didn’t trust her anymore. What was wrong with him? He’d never been secretive. Before today, she’d never heard him fight with Nicole.
“It was more than mischief,” Burke said. “Sounds like deliberate sabotage at the ranch. Have there been any threats on the corporate side?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Of course, we have competitors. And disgruntled former employees. But that kind of hostility usually shows up in the form of a lawsuit.”
She heard the sounds of horsemen approaching and saw the posse riding toward the barn. Slowly, she uncurled her legs and stood, watching. Dylan handed his reins to one of the other ranch hands and strode toward them. With his head down and his face shadowed by the brim of his Stetson, she couldn’t see his expression. But she knew he was troubled. His gait was stiff-legged, not surprising for someone who’d been on horseback for several hours.
He had to be devastated about the kidnapping. No matter how much she wanted to ask him why he hadn’t told her about the sabotage, now wasn’t the right time.
Dylan stepped onto the veranda. He pulled off his leather gloves and his hat, dropping them on a rocking chair. His matted black hair stuck to the sides of his head. His complexion was red and raw from exposure to the cold night air.
“Dylan, I want you to meet Special Agent J. D. Burke.”
The two men faced off as they shook hands. Burke was taller and broader, but Dylan was clearly the aggressor.
“You find my wife,” he said. “I want a search helicopter. First thing in the morning. And bloodhounds. Hell, I want you to call out the National Guard. And I—”
“Dylan,” Carolyn interrupted. “What did you find when you were tracking?”
“They went across the back ridge to a paved road. We lost their track. We’ve been going door-to-door at the nearby ranches. Nobody’s seen anything. Not a damn thing.”
One of Burke’s men pushed open the door. “Carolyn, it’s the phone.”
“The kidnappers,” Dylan said. “I’ll take that call.”
“No,” she said. “You won’t. I’ve been practicing. I know what to say.”
When he started toward the door, Burke stepped in front of him. “Let Carolyn handle this.”
“Like hell I will.”
She slipped inside and ran to answer the phone before Dylan could do anything to stop her.

Chapter Three
Burke would have preferred being inside, listening while Carolyn talked to the kidnappers. But he knew his men would record the conversation. During the next few hours, they’d replay it a hundred times, doing voice analysis and isolating every miniscule background noise.
Right now, it was more important to hold Dylan back. Burke wouldn’t hesitate to kick this cowboy’s ass to keep him from barging in and botching their procedures. He stood in front of Dylan like a brick wall.
“Let me pass.” Dylan seemed dazed, in shock. His pale green eyes—the same color as Carolyn’s—flickered nervously. “I need to be in there.”
Burke didn’t waste time on logical explanations. He doubted Dylan Carlisle could hear anything other than the roar of outrage inside his head. It must be an all-consuming noise, louder than an avalanche.
“We’re staying out here,” Burke said.
“She’s my wife.”
“I understand.” If Burke had allowed himself to become emotionally involved with the people on a case, he would have felt sorry for this guy.
“My wife…” His voice cracked. “I love her.”
Though Burke hadn’t touched him, Dylan staggered backward a few paces. The air deflated from his lungs in a gush of cold vapor. He turned, facing the night sky. His fingers gripped the banister. “We had a fight. Right before she rode off by herself, we argued. I said things. Hurtful things.”
Burke stepped up beside him but didn’t look at him. He stood silently, listening like a priest in a confessional.
“Nicole wants a baby.” The words spilled from Dylan as if he’d been holding everything inside for too long. “We’ve been trying for eight or nine months. But no luck. From the start, we knew she might have to be implanted because she had internal injuries from when she got kicked by a horse a couple of years ago. Kind of an occupational hazard, I guess. She’s a large animal veterinarian.”
Burke heard the pride in his voice. Dylan truly loved his wife.
He continued, “She’s a tiny little thing. But tough. First time I saw her, she stuck her arm into a cow’s birthing canal and pulled a slick, wet, newborn calf into the world.” He shook his head. Something like a sob came through his lips. “You’ve got to love a woman like that.”
That wasn’t Burke’s number one criteria, but he understood. “She was right for you.”
“We were supposed to go to the fertility doctor today. He’d scheduled the implant procedure. But I couldn’t go. Not with the stable fire. I had to be here.”
Actually, he could have called Carolyn. She was more than able to manage the ranch while Dylan was at the doctor with his wife. Burke guessed that something else was going on. Maybe Dylan wasn’t ready for kids.
He continued, “I told her we could do it tomorrow or the next day. Why did it have to happen today? What difference could one day make?”
A big difference. It took less than a day to change someone’s life. Sometimes, less than a minute.
Carolyn pushed open the door and stepped onto the veranda. She trembled. “A million-dollar ransom. He wants it by tomorrow afternoon.”

THE SOUND OF THE KIDNAPPER’S voice set fire to a fuse inside Carolyn. She was furious. And terrified. They had to rescue Nicole. Now, damn it. Right now.
But there were procedures to follow, and she trusted Burke’s expertise. He moved around the dining room, checking the various instruments and conferring with his men in technical jargon that sounded like a foreign language.
Needing something to do, she picked up Burke’s leather jacket from the dining room chair where he’d dropped it. The lining was still warm from his body heat. He glanced in her direction. Was he smirking? In spite of her earlier insistence that she wasn’t an errand girl, she’d been reduced to tidying up. Immediately, Carolyn dropped the jacket and stood tall, arms folded below her breasts.
Sheriff Trainer had joined them. The only other person in the room was her brother. Dylan leaned against the wall by the door, near collapse.
“We’re going to play back the ransom call,” Burke said. “I want you all to listen for any sound that might give us a clue to the kidnapper’s identity or his whereabouts.”
“Wait a minute,” Sheriff Trainer said. “Didn’t you get a trace to tell us where he is?”
One of Burke’s associates, Special Agent Corelli, stepped forward. He was the technical expert, the only man in the room wearing a suit and tie. He pointed to a rectangular black box with several dials. On the screen was a map of the area. A red dot blinked on a secluded road, too small to be given a name.
Corelli pointed to the dot. “When he made the call, he was here. I’d guess that he’s on horseback or in an all-terrain vehicle.”
Dylan staggered forward and squinted at the screen. “Does he have Nicole with him?”
“Sorry,” Corelli said. “There’s no way of knowing.”
Carolyn went to her brother’s side. “Sit down, Dylan.”
“Can’t.” He stumbled back to his position against the wall. “If I sit, I’ll fall asleep.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
“I won’t sleep until Nicole is in the bed beside me.”
A noble sentiment. But it wouldn’t do Nicole any good if he pushed himself beyond his limits and had a total breakdown.
The sheriff tilted his hat back on his head and stared at the blinking dot. Though he wasn’t holding a cigarette, Carolyn smelled the residual smoke that clung to his uniform. “Seems to me that we ought to head out in that direction.”
“He’ll be long gone,” Burke said. “He was smart enough to know that the phone call would be traced. He’s in a remote area with no witnesses. There’s no way we could have gotten there in time. He used a disposable cell phone so we can’t ID the number.”
“There are still records of those things,” the sheriff said. “We can find out where he bought it.”
“We’re running those records,” Corelli said.
Carolyn was surprised that the Delta County sheriff was so attuned to complex investigation techniques. She’d always thought the skinny, gray-haired man was a nice guy, but not particularly competent.
“The good news,” Burke said, “is that our kidnapper is still in the area. More than likely, he’s a local. Somebody you might know. That’s why I want you to listen to his voice. And the way he puts his words together.”
He pressed the playback button and Carolyn heard her own voice. She was surprised that she didn’t sound as terrified as she’d felt at the time.
“Hello, this is Carolyn Carlisle.”
“I want a million dollars.” The kidnapper spoke in a rasping, ominous, barely audible whisper. “I want it in cash.”
“You’ll have to repeat that. I can’t hear you.” She’d been stalling, doing as Burke had suggested. “Please speak up.”
“Listen hard. A million dollars. Cash. Nothing bigger than a hundred.”
“Do you have Nicole with you? I need to talk to her.”
“Pay me. Or she dies.”
On the playback Carolyn sounded confident. “Don’t you worry. You’ll get everything you want. If it’s a million dollars, you’ll get a million.” She’d been rambling, keeping him on the line. “Please let me talk to Nicole.”
“I want the money tomorrow afternoon at five.”
“It’s going to be hard to scrape that much cash together in one day.” More stalling. “Tomorrow is Saturday. And the local banks probably don’t have a million dollars on hand. We’ll have to go all the way into Denver.”
“Not my problem.”
She remembered Corelli giving her the thumbs-up signal. They had successfully made the trace.
She heard herself say, “I need proof of life.”
There was a pause. “What’s that?”
“Proof that Nicole is still alive. Let me talk to her.”
“You’ll get your proof.”
That was when he disconnected the call.
She looked into Dylan’s face. Tears streaked down his cheeks. Carolyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her brother cry. When she touched his arm, he collapsed against her.
“This is all going to work out,” she assured him. “I’ll take care of putting the money together.”
Burke cleared his throat. “Anybody recognize the voice?”
“Not really.” The sheriff patted the pocket in his shirt where Carolyn could see the outline of a cigarette pack. “That whisper could have been anybody. I didn’t hear an accent. He didn’t use any slang.”
“Proper language,” Burke said. “Instead of saying ‘Ain’t my problem’ he said ‘Not my problem.’ And he didn’t know what proof of life meant.”
“What does that indicate?” Carolyn asked.
“He’s not a professional kidnapper. He might not even have a criminal record.”
“Which means,” Corelli said, “that his fingerprints might not be in the system.”
Burke nodded toward the other two men, both of whom were wearing black windbreakers with FBI stenciled across the back. “Special Agent Smith and Special Agent Silverman are both trained profilers. Sheriff, they’re going to need to talk to everybody on the ranch. Starting now.”
“It’s the middle of the night,” the sheriff protested.
“The first twenty-four hours are crucial.” Burke turned to the Smith–Silverman team. “Start your interviews with the sheriff. Keep me informed.”
Carolyn could feel Dylan’s knees beginning to buckle. His body was literally giving out. Before he went limp and dragged them both to the floor, Burke came up beside her and slipped his arm around Dylan’s torso. “Let’s go, buddy. You need a rest.”
He tried to rally. “Can’t go to bed.”
“Just a catnap,” Carolyn said. “On the sofa in your office. You’ll be close.”
With Burke supporting her brother, she went down the hall, through the entryway, and took a right. The second door was Dylan’s office—a large, masculine room with a wall of books and windows that opened onto the veranda. Opposite the huge oak desk that had belonged to her father were two brown leather chairs and a matching sofa.
Burke sat Dylan on the sofa, and Carolyn peeled off his jacket. Getting his boots off was an effort but she managed. Her brother stretched out, immediately asleep. She covered him with a crocheted afghan, striped in green and brown.
Closing the door, she stepped into the hallway with Burke. “Thanks. I couldn’t have carried him by myself. Whoever said ‘He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother,’ didn’t know Dylan.”
“The Hollies,” Burke said. “They sang it.”
She leaned against the wall outside the office, allowing this moment of quiet to soothe her frazzled nerves. It was nice to be here with Burke—someone who didn’t depend on her. “I’m worried about him.”
“Dylan blames himself for what happened.” His voice was low, intimate. “He and Nicole argued before she took off.”
“I heard them.” That was less than six hours ago but it felt like an eternity. “I didn’t catch what they were saying.”
“They were trying to get pregnant. Your brother didn’t want to take time out of his schedule to see the fertility doctor. That’s why Nicole was angry.”
“Dylan told you all that?” She gazed up into his stern, craggy face. In the soft light, his features seemed warmer, more appealing. “If I can’t get him to open up to me, why would he talk to you?”
“Sometimes, it’s easier to tell your secrets to a stranger.”
Unexpectedly, he reached toward her and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The stroke of his fingertips on her cheek set off an electric reaction that sizzled down her throat and into her chest. “You don’t seem all that strange. Actually, you’re kind of all right.”
“High praise,” he said wryly. “Don’t make me more than I am, Carolyn. I’m just doing my job.”
She didn’t quite believe him. Burke tried to stay detached, but the hard-nosed attitude didn’t come naturally. “You’re not as tough as you pretend to be. You care about what happens to Nicole. And to Dylan.”
“Caring is human. But I don’t let empathy get in the way of my work.”
“I don’t mean to put you on the spot. It’s just—”
“And I care about you,” he said.
Her heart thumped against her rib cage. Her gaze dropped from his face to his broad chest. Just for a moment, she wished she could rest her head against him. “Thank you.”
“You’re trying to carry your brother, run the corporate business and manage the ranch.” He rested one hand on her shoulder. With the other, he lifted her chin so she was looking into his dark eyes. “Who takes care of you, Carolyn?”
No one. She had no one to share her burdens. No one who really cared for her. “I talk to Elvis.”
His lips parted in a grin. “First the Hollies. Now Elvis. Are we on a tour of the golden oldies?”
“Elvis is my horse. I tell him my secrets and he listens.”
Burke leaned down and kissed her forehead. He stepped back so quickly that she wasn’t sure what happened. But her forehead tingled. She felt suddenly warm. Hot even.
One of the other agents—either Silverman or Smith—came into the hallway. “Burke, you need to hear this.”
“What is it?”
“The sheriff says the most likely suspects live on a ranch near here. The Circle M.”
Burke turned to Carolyn. “What do you know about the Circle M?”
“The ranch belongs to Nate Miller, but he’s renting the entire property and all the outbuildings to Sam Logan and a group of his followers.”
“Followers?”
“They call themselves the sons of something or other. They’re survivalists.”
Burke looked back toward the other agent. He said just one word. “Waco.”
In a flash she remembered television images of burning buildings and reporters talking about the women and children who had died in the confrontation between the FBI and the Waco cult.
“It’s not the same thing,” she said quickly. “Sam Logan isn’t that kind of guy.”
“How do you know?” Burke asked.
She swallowed hard. “He used to be my boyfriend.”

Chapter Four
Sam Logan hadn’t been the love of Carolyn’s life. He’d been two years ahead of her in high school, and they went out on exactly three dates before he told her that she wasn’t “sophisticated” enough for him. In his dictionary, “sophisticated” meant having sex, which wasn’t something she wanted to try at age sixteen.
Several years later, after she’d graduated from college, she and Logan hooked up again. Their relationship had been far more complicated the second time around.
“Well?” Burke glared at her as if she were a suspect. “Are you going to tell us about your survivalist boyfriend?”
“I need coffee for this.”
She pivoted and went down the hall toward the kitchen where the family’s housekeeper, Polly Sanchez, was taking a batch of her famous raisin rolls out of the oven. The heat from her baking steamed up the north-facing windows. A mouthwatering aroma filled the huge kitchen.
“Can I help?” Carolyn asked.
“Good heavens, no. I’m in a hurry, and I don’t have time to clean up after you.” With an expert flourish, Polly spread gooey icing on top of the rolls. “Soon as I’m done here, I’m heading home to catch a couple of winks before morning.”
As Carolyn watched the icing melt into rich swirls she realized that she hadn’t eaten for over ten hours, not since noon when she had sushi from the new Japanese fusion restaurant down the street from her Denver office. Lunchtime seemed like decades ago.
She rested her hand on Polly’s round shoulder. “Thanks for coming over to help out.”
Beneath her curly gray hair, Polly’s forehead crinkled with worry wrinkles. “You know I’d do anything for your family.”
For the past twelve years, Polly had worked at the ranch as housekeeper and chief cook. Her husband, Juan, had been a full-time ranch hand—and an expert at repairing machinery—until three years ago when he was stricken with MS. Now, his hands were too weak and unsure to hold a wrench. As soon as she’d learned of his illness, Carolyn authorized payment for a full pension and upped Juan’s medical coverage to pay for treatment. She’d offered to do the same for Polly so she could stay home with Juan, but the buxom little woman insisted that she needed to keep busy.
During the spring calving and fall roundup when they had a full crew, Polly had two employees working under her. At this time of year, her schedule was less demanding.
“You need me here,” Polly said in a brisk tone. “Tomorrow morning, Juan and I will move over here to the ranch house, and we’ll stay until Nicole comes home.”
“That’s really not necessary,” Carolyn said.
“Honey, you’ve got a houseful of FBI agents and bodyguards. And you can’t hardly boil water without setting the house afire. How did you plan to feed all these hungry men?”
“I can call for pizza.”
“Pizza for breakfast?” Polly clucked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “Y’all sit right here at the kitchen table. I’ll bring your coffee and raisin rolls.”
Taking the seat opposite Burke, Carolyn knew that the time had come to answer his question. “Okay, here’s what happened between me and Sam Logan.”
“Logan?” Polly set mugs of coffee on the table. “He’s turned into a regular nutcase. He runs that Sons of Freedom bunch over at the Circle M. It’s not all Sons. There are families. The women all wear housedresses and tie their hair back. Same with the kids.”
Burke turned toward her. “Is it a religious group?”
“Lord, no.” Polly bustled back to the counter. “Logan doesn’t have a religious bone in his body. Does he, Carolyn?”
“Not when we were going out.” She remembered Sam Logan as a tall, lean guy with a blond ponytail and a charming smile—handsome enough to cruise by on his looks. She wasn’t surprised that he’d gathered followers.
“His group,” Polly said, “wants to go back to the pioneer days. They’re against big business, government interference, taxation without representation and all that.”
Burke shrugged. “Doesn’t sound so bad to me.”
His comment surprised Carolyn. What kind of fed was opposed to government interference? She’d thought FBI agents couldn’t wait to bust down doors and take everybody into custody.
Polly placed a plate full of raisin rolls on the table. “People around here call them SOF for Sons of Freedom. Or Silly Old Fools. If the only thing they wanted was to go back to the good old days, I wouldn’t have a problem with them. Live and let live, I always say.”
“But you have a problem,” Burke said. “What is it?”
She reached behind her back to untie the strings of the gingham apron she wore over her jeans and cotton shirt. “Their back-to-nature ideas don’t extend to alcohol. A couple of the SOF boys drove into Riverdale, drunk as skunks, and raised hell. A local teenager got hurt. The sheriff could tell you more.”
Carolyn bit into her raisin roll and let the gooey sweetness melt in her mouth.
“How do they support themselves?”
“Lord knows where they get their money. But they seem to have plenty. Nate Miller didn’t rent out his land for cheap, that’s for dang sure.”
Carolyn glanced over at Burke who seemed totally focused on devouring his raisin roll. His dark eyes took on a glaze of contentment. His jaw relaxed as he chewed. The other FBI agent was likewise transported.
“These are great,” Burke said. “Ma’am, you’ve got to come back tomorrow.”
Polly pinched his cheek. Actually pinched Burke’s cheek! Carolyn couldn’t believe that Special Agent I’m-In-Charge would stand for such familiarity. Then she remembered his kiss on her forehead. Underneath the tough exterior, he was kind of a marshmallow.
“I’ll be back in time to throw together some breakfast.” Polly turned to Carolyn. “The guest bedrooms are made up with fresh sheets and towels. Call me if you need anything else tonight. G’night, y’all.”
She headed out of the kitchen toward the front door.
“Nice woman,” Burke said. “Must have been good for you to have Polly around while you were growing up. She’s real motherly.”
“I have a mother,” Carolyn said quickly. “Her name is Andrea. She and my father divorced when I was seven.”
“Does she live around here?”
Thinking of her stylish mother choosing to stay in rural Colorado amused Carolyn. “Not hardly. She runs an art gallery in Manhattan where she lives with her second husband and my twelve-year-old half sister.”
“Big change in lifestyle.”
“Yeah, she traded in her cowgirl boots for designer stilettos.”
Carolyn regretted that she hadn’t spent more time with her mom when she was growing up. Andrea had wanted to take her and Dylan with her when she left, but they both chose the ranch. It was their home, their heritage. “I should call Mom and tell her what’s going on.”
“Tomorrow is soon enough,” Burke said.
He was probably right. There was nothing her mother could do from New York, and Carolyn had more pressing concerns for tonight. “I need to get on the phone with my financial officers. And my bankers. I’ve got to start putting together the money for the kidnappers. Maybe I should—”
“Later,” Burke said. “First, I want to know more about Sam Logan.”
“Like what?” The sugar rush from Polly’s raisin rolls had energized her. The inside of her head churned with dozens of things she needed to handle ASAP. “There’s not much to tell.”
“When you broke up with him were there hard feelings?”
“Some,” she admitted. “It was a long time ago, right after grad school. I’d come back to the ranch and I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my pretty new MBA.”
For lack of any other plan, she’d started dating Logan, who was a great guy to party with—handsome, charming and sexy. When their relationship started to get serious, she was uncomfortable. Her father, who had been ailing, sided with Logan, telling Carolyn it was high time she settled down.
But she’d just returned from school in New York where she had a chance to watch her career-focused mother. The corporate lifestyle appealed to Carolyn, and she figured she had the rest of her life to make babies. Now, almost ten years later, she wondered if she’d waited too long.
“Logan wasn’t the right guy for me.” She exhaled a sigh. “And I wasn’t the barefoot-and-pregnant type of woman he was looking for.”
“Do you think he holds a grudge?”
Taken aback, she grasped what he was suggesting. “If you think Logan kidnapped Nicole to get back at me, you’re wrong. His ego is too big to realize that I was dumping him as much as he was dumping me.”
“He could be nursing bad feelings toward you.”
True, her former boyfriend had a petty streak. “He wouldn’t sabotage the ranch. Our cattle-raising process is natural and organic. We’re not his enemy.”
“Are you sure about that?” Burke raised an eyebrow. “Carlisle Ranch is an international corporation. Big business. That’s what he hates.”
Burke’s logic made a certain amount of sense. The success of her family’s business might be a slap in the face to a loser like Sam Logan.

IT WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT when Burke and his men completed their interrogations of the employees of Carlisle Ranch. Once these cowboys got talking, they were as gossipy as a bunch of hens with ruffled feathers.
Burke still didn’t have much to go on. Only a basic assumption: the kidnapping had been unpremeditated and was related to the recent vandalism at the ranch.
On a wide-screen computer in the dining room, Agent Corelli had pinpointed those acts of sabotage on a map of the area. Most of them bunched along the border between the Carlisles and a neighboring ranch.
Corelli, whose black suit still looked crisp, pointed to the red dots. “That pattern can’t be a coincidence. Who lives on that ranch?”
“A young widow and her four-year-old child.” Not likely suspects for a brutal kidnapping. “It’s not a working ranch. Less than a hundred acres.”
“Who’s next to her?”
“National Forest,” Burke said. “There are a couple of oil rigs in that area but nobody lives there.”
Logan’s compound was across the road and further to the east. Burke considered the survivalists his most likely suspects. They were the only ranch who had refused to talk to Dylan’s posse when they had made their search.
Burke needed to get inside the SOF compound. His gut told him Logan had something to hide.
He stepped away from the table and stretched, trying to ease the tension that knotted the muscles in his neck and shoulders. “We need continuous monitoring tonight. In case the kidnappers call again,” he said. “We’ll sleep in shifts. You three go first. Silverman, I’ll see you at three-thirty to relieve me.”
Stretching again, he watched his men troop out of the command central/dining room. Upstairs, Polly had prepared two guest rooms for them with two beds in each. Twin-sized beds were always too short for Burke, but it would have felt good to lie flat, even with his feet dangling off the end of the bed.
In the living room that adjoined the dining room, he’d spotted a big, beige, corduroy easy chair with a matching ottoman. He hauled the chair around to face the battery of equipment on the table and settled in.
The house was quiet but not peaceful. The anxiety of waiting—not knowing what had happened to a loved one—permeated the old walls. The creaking of floorboards reminded him of the crackle of a long fuse, burning slowly toward an explosion. More trouble was coming; he could feel it.
Years ago, when he had started in law enforcement as a street cop in Chicago, he’d learned to trust his gut feelings. Subsequent training with the FBI gave him the tools to analyze.
Eyes half-closed, he did a risk assessment. Two violent crimes—arson and kidnapping—had occurred within two days. If he assumed that the same perpetrators were responsible for both, it was unlikely there would be another attack tonight. Typically, there was a lull after kidnappers made their ransom demands.
He heard a rustling from the hallway and turned his head with his eyelids still drooping. Carolyn entered the dining room, cell phone in hand. When she saw him, she stared for a moment as if deciding whether to wake him. Wispy strands of black hair had come undone from her ponytail. Though she fidgeted, she still looked capable. And damned attractive.
Her hidden vulnerability appealed to him. Behind her facade, he caught glimpses of a touching innocence that made him want to gather her into his arms and promise her the world. Which still didn’t excuse him for kissing her forehead. He wasn’t usually so unprofessional, but he didn’t regret that kiss. Her skin tasted spicy—warm and soft.
“What do you need?” he asked.
She started. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Just resting.”
“I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
She placed her cell phone down on the table and approached him. “What if I can’t put together the ransom by the deadline?”
He’d prefer that she not pay ransom at all. “Problems?”
“We don’t have a million dollars in liquid assets, so the ransom requires a loan against our collateral, which, in turn, requires a ton of paperwork. Also, my financial adviser tells me that the local banks, even in Delta, can’t pull that much cash from their reserves. We’ll have to use a Denver bank and fly the money over here.”
“I’m impressed that you found out that much tonight.”
“I get things done, Burke.”
She wasn’t bragging, just stating a fact. He had no doubt that Carolyn wouldn’t hesitate to wake up the entire Colorado banking community to get what she wanted.
“If you can’t get the money, explain it to the kidnapper. Ask for more time.”
“And if he refuses?”
“He won’t.”
She turned away from him and wandered around the table, checking out the equipment. When she came to the screen with the map and the red dots, she pointed. “What’s this?”
“A map.”
“I can tell it’s a map,” she said with some exasperation. “And not a very good one. If you want more detailed maps of the area, we’ve got plenty. Dylan uses them to keep track of the different fields, pastures and grazing rotation.”
He hauled himself out of the comfortable chair and went to stand beside her. The top of her head came up to his chin. In her boots, she was close to six feet. A tall woman. He liked that.
He pointed to the red markings. “These dots represent incidents of sabotage.”
She counted. “Seven incidents. Since my brother hasn’t seen fit to keep me informed, can you tell me about them?”
Burke had plenty of details. During the interrogations, he’d listened to dozens of complaints from ticked-off cowboys. “Like you said before, it was just petty mischief until the barn burned down.”
Her soft pink lips frowned. “I still don’t understand why. We’re good neighbors. We provide employment to the people in this area. Why would anybody do this to us?”
“You want motives?” He flipped open the notepad where Silverman had recorded their notes. “There are over twenty names listed. People who bear grudges against the Carlisles.”
She leaned over the table. Her manicured fingernail—a feminine contrast to her ranch clothes—skimmed down the list. “I don’t even know half these people. How did you come up with this list?”
“Your employees told us about them. By the way, all the ranch hands were quick to say that they like their jobs and your brother is a good, fair-minded boss.”
She pointed to a name on the list. “Who’s this?”
When he bent down to see where she was pointing, her ponytail brushed against his cheek. The scent of lilacs from her hair distracted him and it took a moment for him to read the name. “He works for an oil company. Your brother wouldn’t allow his equipment access through Carlisle property.”
“That hardly seems like an incitement to vandalism. Or kidnapping.”
Though Burke agreed, he knew better than to overlook any motive, no matter how slight. Some people could work themselves into a homicidal frenzy over a stubbed toe.
She read another name. “Nate Miller. That’s no surprise. He’s hated us forever, blames us for his father’s failure on the Circle M.”
“There are a couple of other ranchers on the list who don’t like the competition from Carlisle Ranch.”
“It’s business,” she said. “Why make it personal?”
“Your success hurts their bottom line. People tend to take bankruptcy personally.”
“But we’re always fair. Always.” She tapped the name with her finger. “Dutch Crenshaw runs the meatpacking plant in Delta. We’ve given him millions of dollars in business over the years.”
Burke considered Crenshaw’s motive to be one of the best. “But you’re thinking about building your own slaughterhouse.”
“I gave him a chance,” she said. “I told him that we wanted to use state-of-the-art humane technology, but he refused to modify his plant.”
“So you’re going to put him out of business.”
She frowned. “Okay, maybe you’ve got a point.”
His focus on the list was interrupted by a loud crash, followed by the sound of gunfire. The shots came from the front of the house.

Chapter Five
Burke’s risk assessment had been dead wrong. They were under attack. He caught hold of Carolyn’s upper arm and turned her toward him. “Go upstairs. Don’t turn on any lights and—”
“The hell I will.” She wrenched free. “Those were gunshots. Somebody’s firing at my house—the house that’s been in my family for three generations, the house my grandpa built. Don’t ask me to hide behind the lace curtains in my bedroom.”
Stubborn woman. “I go first. Stay behind me.”
“Of course. I’m not going to put myself or anyone else in danger.”
He grabbed his handgun from the shoulder holster slung across the back of a chair, aware of seconds ticking away. Whoever fired that shot would be making his escape. Moving quickly through the house, Burke turned off lights as he went. Carolyn followed in his footsteps.
Her brother staggered into the moonlit hallway, rubbing his eyes. “Carolyn? What’s going on?”
“Stay with him,” Burke ordered as he flipped the latch on the front door. “I’ll be right back.”
Leaving Carolyn behind—thank God—he slipped outside onto the veranda. Aware that he might be the next target for a man with a rifle and a nightscope, Burke stayed low. He dodged around the rocking chair and porch swing. At the end of the veranda, he jumped over the railing and ducked into the shadows.
Wind rustled the bare branches of a cottonwood. Nothing else appeared to be moving.
“Over here, Burke.”
Burke followed the sound of the voice and saw a security guard crouched behind a truck that was parked on the wide gravel space beyond a hitching rail. Burke hustled toward him. “Where’s the shooter?”
“Didn’t see him. I was behind the house when I heard the shots.”
His heavy jaw was thrust forward. His name, Burke remembered, was Neville. He’d been in the Secret Service for five years before joining Longbridge Security. “What about a vehicle?”
Neville shook his head. “I didn’t hear a car.”
Cautiously, they peered around the truck. The driveway leading to the house was a long gravel lane. The yard was about an acre of winter-brown grass, separated from the road by a whitewashed fence. On the other side of the road, the land turned rugged with lots of trees and rocks—plenty of hiding places for a sniper.
“He could be dug in behind those rocks,” Burke said.
He nodded. “A decent rifle would be accurate from four, maybe even five hundred yards away.”
After that first burst of gunfire, no other shots had been fired. Likely, the shooter had already hightailed it out of there. “Do you think he’s gone?”
“I don’t want to test that theory by taking a bullet,” Neville said.
“Let’s find him,” Burke said. “You go right. I’ll go left. We’ll meet at the fence by the road.”
As Burke moved across the yard, he scanned the cold, moonlit landscape. There was virtually no cover. Burke longed for the city streets, crowded with parked cars and doorways to duck into. This sniper was probably an expert hunter. Not like the city punks who held their guns sideways, more concerned with looking cool than taking careful aim.
When he reached the fence and no other shots had been fired, he was fairly sure that their sniper was gone. He heard the door to the house open. A mob spilled onto the veranda. Carolyn and her brother were both carrying rifles. The other three FBI agents accompanied them.
Lucas and two other cowboys—also armed—charged toward the veranda from the two-story bunkhouse.
“There are way too many guns on this ranch,” Burke said. This was the land of the Second Amendment where the right to bear arms would not be infringed upon. He turned and looked across the road. From where he stood, he spotted four good positions for a sniper to hide, if he’d even bothered to take cover. With Neville behind the house and no one else keeping watch, the sniper could have stopped in the road, dropped to one knee, taken aim and fired. But why? What did he hope to gain by rousing the household?
“Sorry I missed him,” Neville said.
“Not your fault. One man can’t patrol an area this size.”
As he and Neville walked up the drive toward the house, Burke shivered in the December cold. He wasn’t wearing a jacket or hat, and hadn’t bothered to put on gloves. Responding to the threat had been his sole focus.
The gunfire bothered him because it didn’t make sense. As a rule, kidnappers kept close tabs on their hostages.
But two men had abducted Nicole. One could be with her while the other came here. Why? By now the kidnappers had to know that the FBI had been called in. Why take the risk of coming close?
He stopped behind the black rental van he and his men had driven from the Delta airfield. The back window was shot out, and there was a neat bullet hole in the rear license plate. None of the other vehicles showed signs of damage. The FBI van had been the target.
Carolyn stepped up beside him. Her rifle rested on her shoulder. “Looks like a pretty clear message, Burke. Somebody doesn’t like you.”
For a moment he grinned. He liked a challenge.

AFTER SHE’D HERDED EVERYONE back into the house, Carolyn took Burke and her brother into the office to talk strategy.
Somehow Carolyn had to turn the situation around and make it work. But what can I do? She couldn’t put in extra hours to get the job done. It didn’t matter that she was smart and strong. She couldn’t change fate.
Pacing on the carpet, she snapped at her brother, “Don’t drink that coffee. Caffeine keeps you awake.”
“Somebody needs to be alert.” He leaned against the desk and faced the sofa where Burke sat. “Looks like we made a mistake.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“The kidnappers don’t want the FBI involved.”
“Of course they don’t.” Her temper flared. “That’s exactly why Burke and his men are staying here. We need their expertise.”
“Why? We’re paying the ransom. I’m not taking any chances with my wife’s safety.”
“You want reasons?” In spite of her brother’s distress, she had to be brutally honest. “I don’t think I can get my hands on a million dollars in cash by the deadline.”
“Why not? I’m sure there’s a way.”
“Even if we pay, there’s no guarantee that the kidnappers will bring Nicole back.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I know.”
“We’re ranchers, Dylan. We don’t know squat about crime. The best way to deal with these kidnappers is to follow the advice of experts. Right, Burke?”
He didn’t bother to nod. Instead, he sat in self-contained silence. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but hoped he had some kind of plan that involved more than sitting here waiting for the next call from the kidnappers.
Lucas Mann poked his head into the office. “I got a question for you, Carolyn. The men are asking if maybe you could see fit to give their guns back.”
“Seems to me that you’ve got plenty of other guns.”
“Well, sure.” He raked his fingers through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. “Most everybody has backup weapons. But we want all the firepower we can get. Especially since some polecat is shooting at us.”
“And I suppose you’re missing your pretty new Glock nine millimeter?”
“Ain’t she a beaut?” A proud smile stretched his face, and she noticed the wad of chewing tobacco that made a pouch in his cheek. “I bought it when all this sabotage started up. Gave my old piece to MacKenzie, that new kid.”
“I’m assuming,” Burke said from the sofa, “that you legally transferred ownership.”
“Speaking of sabotage,” Carolyn said, quickly changing the subject. If Burke got official about the paperwork for all the firearms on this ranch, there would be trouble. “What’s your opinion, Lucas? Who do you think is behind it?”
“Don’t know who,” he said, “and I don’t know why. But it all started when we moved a couple hundred head onto the south grazing pasture, near the Widow Grant’s property.”
Dylan grumbled, “Don’t start.”
“Carolyn asked a legitimate question,” Lucas said. “And she deserves an answer.”
Apparently, there had been a dispute between these two. “Please, Lucas, continue.”
“The first time I found a fence post torn down, I told Dylan that we should herd them cattle to a different area. He wouldn’t hear a word of it. Then we had another incident. And another. Dylan still wouldn’t change his mind. He sure can be pigheaded. Not meaning any disrespect.”
“I didn’t move the cattle,” Dylan explained, “because I’m trying a new system of rotating the herd.”
On the sofa, Burke leaned forward. His heels hit the floor with a loud thump—a subtle but effective way to get their attention. “Lucas, can you tell me why having cattle in that pasture might provoke vandalism?”

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